


First Person

by Constantly_Irksome



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Canon Compliant, First Meetings, M/M, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-22 16:40:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30041637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Constantly_Irksome/pseuds/Constantly_Irksome
Summary: They say we're all starring in the movie of our own lives. This is Patrick's movie.If the lack of a rating and/or the ? on number of chapters is worrisome for you, skip to the end note.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 22
Kudos: 43





	1. Chapter 1

I set my tea down on the kitchen counter and smile when Ray calls my name. I’m interested to meet this David Rose who’s here for help filing his incorporation papers. The odd collection of townsfolk that have appeared all morning long have been even more unusual than the assortment of businesses Ray’s chosen to operate out of the first floor of his home—travel agent, realtor, photographer, business consultant. That last one is all me now, though. Patrick Brewer, Business Consultant. Ray hired me to take over that bit of his eclectic empire so he can focus more on the film and photography stuff. I’ve had to hit the ground running, too. My new business cards arrived yesterday and my calendar is full of meetings. Schitt’s Creek has a lot more going on than I expected. Already this morning I’ve helped a man named Bob map out the steps to making his bagel shop dreams a reality and gently suggested to a woman named Phyllis that she might want to evaluate how big the market is for cat hair scarves before investing a lot of money in start-up costs. All I know about David Rose is that he bought the space where the general store used to be. I wonder what he’s going to do with it. 

David Rose does not disappoint and I like him immediately. I barely have time to take him in—tall, dark, unusually dressed, and very good looking—before we’re shaking hands and he’s already corrected me—he leased the store, not bought it—and he’s sitting across from me at my desk stumbling through an explanation of what he wants to do with his business. 

Something about the way he talks with his hands and peppers his speech with uncommon words is… cute. Can a grown man with that much stubble be cute? And, if he can, is it weird that I’m noticing it? And why do I want to tease him? I literally can’t stop myself. _Oscillate._ I mean, who says that? The thing with not knowing what address to use for his business should be odd, but instead it’s somehow endearing. And when he doesn’t understand a very basic baseball idiom I use out of habit, I start grinning like a fool. I have never met anyone like David Rose before. 

Then he starts trying to describe his vision of what the store will be and I have to cover my mouth and work very hard not to laugh. He seems flustered and gets a bit lost while trying to explain it. There are a lot of buzzwords in what he’s saying, but not much substance. I want to continue teasing him, but we don’t really know each other and I should be professional, and he really doesn’t seem to know how to answer _any_ of these questions, so I end up just handing him the paperwork and asking him to bring it back when he has a clearer idea of what he wants to do.

He doesn’t like that much. His dark eyes glint with a bit of fire and his brows lower. “Um, I do have a clear idea.”

“Oh! You’ve settled on a name, then?” The urge to tease him wins out over being professional so quickly I don’t even think there was truly a battle. What’s wrong with me? I don’t usually struggle to control my impulses like this. 

He immediately pokes back by insulting me a little. “You’re either very impatient, or extremely sure of yourself.” I’m both of those things, actually, for better or worse. I’m surprised he noticed it so quickly, though. I like it. I want more of this push and pull with him. I use another baseball reference purely because I know it will provoke him and when it does it feels like hitting a home run.

I give him one of my new business cards and I hope he’ll use it, but I’m a little bit worried I may have actually upset him so I tell him it was nice to meet him and hope he hears the truth in the words. Because it was. Nice to meet him. As I watch him walk away I realize I want him to tell me more about his ideas. I want to listen to his words get tangled on their way out, and I want to watch his hands and face try to help clarify them. He’s the first person I’ve met in a long time that’s made me feel excited about getting to know them. He might be the first person to ever make me feel precisely this way. Something is different about David Rose and I don’t understand it yet, but I hope I get the chance to figure it out.


	2. Chapter 2

“Patrick?”

Ray’s voice is raised, so he must have said my name a couple of times now. I’ve been staring at my laptop but not really seeing anything on the screen. Daydreaming, I guess. Although I’m not sure about what, exactly. I think I’m mostly trying to imagine what David Rose’s store might look like. There’s something about him that makes me think he’ll do something different, something interesting. 

“Sorry, Ray. Guess I zoned out there for a minute. What’s up?” 

“It’s lunchtime! Would you like to eat together today, Patrick?” 

Ray’s level of excitement makes me smile and feel a little bad for turning him down. “I’m not really hungry today, Ray. I thought I might go for a walk and enjoy the sunshine instead.”

“Are you okay, Patrick? You’re not getting sick, are you? Having a cold when the weather is so nice is a miserable thing, don’t you think? Or is it a stomach bug? Is your stomach okay, Patrick?”

I chuckle a little. “I’m fine, Ray. Just not hungry. I’ll see you in a bit, yeah?”

“Okay, Patrick. Bye!” He drags out the last word, fluttering a hand at me as he disappears into the kitchen. Funny he mentioned my stomach. I do feel a little off, but not in a bad way, exactly. Just. I don’t know. Like I’ve got extra energy. Like I’m nervous, but I have nothing to be nervous about. I think my body just needs some activity. A walk will help. 

I’m able to make two complete circuits of the town on foot in under an hour, and by the time I’m back at Ray’s I feel more settled. I get situated at my desk and take my phone off silent. There are several voicemails waiting for me so I set the phone down, hit speaker, and grab something to write with in case I need to take notes.

“Hi, David. It’s Patrick.” I recognize the voice immediately and by the time he stumbles through telling me he wants to talk to me more about his business plan and gets to the end of his message—"Okay, ciao!”—I’m smiling. I write his name at the top of my pad of paper. David. I trace over his name again, making it bolder. He didn’t really say anything worthy of making a note, though, so I look back to the phone for the next message. All the unheard voicemails are from that same number. There are _so many_. My cheeks stretch into a grin. By the time I reach the end of the chain of messages, I have two pages of notes and my cheeks ache. God, he’s funny. He’s got to be drunk or high or something. He has some really great ideas but his presentation is scattered and full of digressions and little side rants about unrelated things. I set my pen down and hit play on the voicemails once more, leaning back in my chair and chuckling as I listen to them all again. I picture him, dark brows bouncing up and down and hands moving faster as he gets more agitated. I can’t wait to tease him about this and see that reaction in person.


	3. Chapter 3

I listen to the voicemails again while I read over my notes about David’s business idea. I’ve already captured all the details I can from his stream-of-consciousness messages. He keeps running out of time, and each time my voicemail cuts him off mid-sentence and he has to call back, he sounds a little more irritated than he did the time before. By the last message, he’s thoroughly incensed, and he’s only called again “this one last time” so he can rant about his objection to arbitrary time limits being placed on a person’s ability to communicate. Each time I listen to that last message, I laugh a little at how offended he sounds. I keep trying to picture what he might look like while he’s this worked up.

“Patrick?”

“Yeah, Ray?”

Ray’s been in the kitchen for the last hour or so and he pushes open the door between the rooms to lean through and speak to me. “Do you think you will be finished listening to David’s messages soon? I have some client phone calls I need to make. I can make them from here in the kitchen but David’s voice carries a bit, doesn’t it? He’s very dramatic.” Ray laughs a little and looks at me like we’re sharing a joke. “It would be better if I waited until you are finished listening to them on speaker phone before I make my calls.”

A hot flush instantly warms my face and neck. _Oh, god. How many times have I listened to the voicemails? It’s weird. Listening to them over and over. So weird._ I feel like I’ve been caught doing something private. Simultaneously, I feel a little ball of anger pressing in my chest at Ray’s dismissive comment about David being dramatic. I open my mouth to argue against that description of him but ultimately control the urge. Instead, I force myself to behave as if nothing is wrong, as if I’m not slightly mortified that I listened to the same messages on a loop for the better part of an hour. “All done, Ray. It took me a few tries to get all the information written down, but I’ve got it now. I don’t need to listen to the messages again.” I’ve saved them just in case, though.

“Excellent!” Ray withdraws into the kitchen and I blow out a breath, willing my cheeks to stop burning. 

I pull open my desk drawer to grab a new file folder and another copy of the forms I gave David earlier. Government forms are so needlessly complicated and I suspect he will need help corralling his ideas and making them fit into a dry, just-the-facts format, where there’s no room for mood boards and color schemes. I’d really like to help him. I write his full name carefully on the tab at the top of the file folder and then tap the pages together into a neat pile and get to work. 

It doesn’t take long to complete David’s forms now that I have so much additional information. I tuck the finished forms back into the folder with his name and set it to the side of my desk. Then I pull out a folder with the name Ronnie Lee written on the tab. I’m meeting with Ronnie tomorrow to help her with some quarterly tax paperwork, and I need to familiarize myself with her and her business. As I’m reading and making notes, my eyes keep drifting to the file with David’s name on it. I feel unfocused and twitchy, like I did before lunch, but I can’t just go walk off the extra energy again. I need to work. I’m tired of sitting, though. I pick up Ronnie’s folder and go stand at the small dining table near my desk. It helps, and I’m deeply focused on a math error I’ve discovered in Ronnie’s taxes when a quiet voice says, “Hi.”

I straighten up and turn to find David Rose standing behind me, and I smile.

**Author's Note:**

> I noticed there really isn't much in the way of first person POV stories in this fandom and thought it might be a fun challenge to write one. Plus, unreliable narrators can be interesting. Full disclosure: As I sit here right now with my finger nervously hovering over the 'post' button I don't know if this is the only thing I'll write or if I'll end up writing the entire series from his first person POV. If it seems like there is interest I suspect it will be the latter because I had a lot of fun writing this. The lack of a rating is simply to give me room to decide as I go along, if that's what happens. This first part is very much G-rated. 
> 
> Thanks for reading.


End file.
